


born with nothing

by AliuIce0814



Series: Frank Castle's SHIELDverse [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Parenting, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 08:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11779260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814
Summary: Clint and Bruce deal with the fallout from Frank's meltdown at work and the fallout from their own piss-poor childhoods.





	born with nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Not_You](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/gifts).
  * Inspired by [She Who Must Be Obeyed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263391) by [Not_You](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You). 



> Warning for implied violence, suicidal ideation, mental illness, breakdowns, and Bruce Banner's terrible childhood. 
> 
> This story is NOT meant to be advice on how to handle panic attacks or suicidal ideation. If you're suicidal, please call the suicide hotline at 1-800-273-8255 (US). If you think this story might trigger you, PLEASE skip it. I've written plenty of cuter, lighter stories! See "sunshine in an empty place."
> 
> If you haven't read Not_You's She Who Must Be Obeyed 'verse, you'll be confused. If you haven't read "wanna hear a true story," which is the prequel to this piece, you will also be confused.

            ‘Sorry,’ Clint signs constantly on the ride home. Without looking at him, Natasha reaches out and stills his hand. Bruce is ominously quiet in the back of the Lambo with Nick. Sure, Bruce is always quiet, but it ain’t like this. The deliberate inhales and exhales that Nick’s matching mean an oncoming meltdown. And it’s Clint’s fault.

            Sure, Frank’s a grown man—a huge man—who should be able to control his actions. Tasha’s repeated it enough, and Clint knows it’s true. But Clint lives in a house full of people with daddy issues. Hell, he’s got enough of his own to fill a whole DCS file. He should know better than to joke about that shit.

            When Clint goes to sign ‘sorry’ again, Natasha slaps his hand. Clint shoves it, stinging, into his pocket and stares at the gray road spooling out in front of them.

#

hands cold, sweat

dripping down the

small of his

back

 

 _no,_ Bruce screams

or would if

his jaw moved

but

 

muscles clench from

years of flinching.

Rabbits hide because

they’re

 

small enough but

docked-ear dogs

snap like wolves.

Bruce

 

snarls silently, bares

his teeth, even

breaths barely restraining

him.

#

            “Cage,” Natasha orders as she parks the car. “Now.”

            Something _thunks_ hard against the back seat. “No,” Nick rumbles. When Clint twists around to see, Nick’s got his hand behind Bruce’s head to keep him from bashing it again. Bruce thrashes, eyes shut tight. Clint’s stomach clenches. At least Bruce isn’t hurting someone else, his mind provides, and then he feels like even worse trash than before.

            “Go inside,” Tasha tells him in a deliberately even voice. “Go see Thor.”

            Clint isn’t going to wait for her to ask again. He doesn’t even stop in the mud room to kick off his shoes, takes the stairs at a run until he’s at Thor’s room. “Clint,” Thor says when he sees him, spreading his arms wide and beaming, and it’s so fucking Thor that Clint can’t stand it. He launches forward until he’s wrapped in his thick arms.

            “What’s wrong?” Thor’s voice rumbles through his chest.

            “I fucked up.”

#

_Put me down_

tears from Bruce’s

throat. He means

it as an

animal—

 

needle, paralytic, overdose,

 _do it,_ he

goads, punches—he’s

strong

 

like Dad, _ha,_

boys grow up

to be their

monsters—

 

_hit me back,_

Nick can, he’s

killed, Bruce knows,

but

 

scarred fingers just

close around Bruce’s

biceps, pull him

tight.

#

            ‘Dad,’ Clint signs. Thor’s still learning sign language, but he knows that one. ‘F-R-A-N-K. Dad. Frank is dad. Kids dead. Dead,’ Clint repeats when Thor frowns. Thor shakes his head. Clint finger-spells it. Thor’s eyes go wide. “Oh no,” he says. Clint nods. ‘D-E-A-D dead Frank’s kids. I made joke about him—D-I-L-F joke. Dad joke. Laughed. Before B-E-F-O-R-E before before I knew. Now I know I wouldn’t laugh. No joke. F-R-A-N-K angry. Angry.’ Thor nods, brow furrowed again. Clint makes the most furious expression he can until Thor gets the idea. ‘F-R-A-N-K destroyed break room. Tables over, dishes broken, slammed door.’ Clint shoves his fingers through his hair until it stands on end. ‘B-R-U-C-E followed him.’

            “Bruce?” Thor echoes softly, or as softly as he ever does. “Oh, no.”

            “‘Oh no Bruce’ what?” Tony’s voice says from the hall.

            Clint only turns enough for Tony to see his hands. ‘Cage,’ he signs.

            “Shit,” Tony says. His footsteps clatter down the stairs.

#

rough scratchy foam

covers metal bars—

pool noodles sliced,

forming

 

a protective layer

between the cage

and Bruce’s skull.

He

 

screams when he

smacks his head

against them anyway.

_Fuck_

_you Brian, not_

_my son, Bruce!_

_mom mom no._

Possession

 

is diagnosable mental

illness now but

still best caged

when

 

twenty years ago

Bruce smashed Dad’s

head on Mom’s

gravestone.

#

            ‘Sorry,’ Thor clumsily signs. Clint shrugs. Thor scowls and signs it right against Clint. “Come to bed,” he says.

            “Yellow. No, red,” Clint says.

            Thor shakes his head. “I mean to rest?” he asks. “So I can hold you.”

            “Couch?” Clint swallows. “So I can hear if they need help.”

            Thor scoops up Clint like he weighs nothing instead of 190 pounds. Clint wraps his arms and legs around him and clings, ‘like an octopus,’ Tasha always says on Little Days. He doesn’t feel little now, just sour-mouthed and shaky and scared. But being carried is still nice.

            The sectional in the living room is new. They’d gone as a family to pick it out last weekend after an enthusiastic orgy snapped some springs in the old one. It’s fabric because no one wants their bare skin stuck to sweaty leather furniture. Clint’s doubly glad for the choice when Thor cuddles him on it now because the couch is so damn soft.

            Bruce roars. It’s not words. Clint wishes he could rip out his hearing aids. He grabs a handful of Thor’s hair and starts braiding instead.

#

Cold cuffs close

around Bruce’s wrists.

Coppery blood pools

on

 

his tongue, under

his fingernails. Fuck

you, he doesn’t

say—

 

words are dead.

He should be.

He can’t reach

the

 

bars or floor.

- _-Hey_ , a slick

smooth rich boy’s

voice

 

says, _did you_

_see the NASA-_

_approved eclipse glasses?_

Tony.

#

            Bruce quiets. “Is he hurt?” Thor frets. It probably means something that Thor associates silence with pain, but Clint’s not going to touch on that now. Too many open wounds already.

            “Nah,” Clint says. “Well, probably, but Tasha’s watching him. If it was an emergency—she knows when to get help. Tony’s talking to him.”

            “Does that help?”

            Clint shrugs. He rubs his face against Thor’s soft flannel shirt. “Sometimes. Gives his brain something new to focus on.”

            “Of course,” Thor says. He rubs Clint’s back. His hand covers about half of it. “It does take a lot of brain power to listen to Tony.”

            Clint snorts in spite of himself. “Damn right. Thank god he’s got somebody as smart as Bruce to listen to him.”

#

_Did you know_

_that Hungarians found_

_the fifth force,_

_maybe?_

_Did you know_

_we have proof_

_of nanocrystals building_

_themselves?_

_Did you know_

_a new telescope’s_

_coming for your_

_birthday?_

_Did you know_

_I bought it_

_from guys at_

_Magellan?_

_Did you know_

_though feelings scare_

_me, I love_

_you?_

#

            “When’s Pepper coming home?” Clint asks.

            “Soon,” Thor says. “She phoned right before you came home. Her meeting ran late.”  
            “They’ll need her,” Clint says. ‘I need her too,’ he signs against Thor’s chest. Thor isn’t good enough at tactile sign language to catch any of it, but Clint’s really talking to himself anyway.

            The door to the basement creaks open. Clint turns in Thor’s arms to see Nick trudging into the room. ‘OK,’ Nick signs. A bruise is blooming on his cheekbone.

            ‘Sorry, Papa Bear,’ Clint signs.

            Nick scowls. “Shut up, Barton,” he says sternly. “You don’t need to apologize to me.”

            “I fucked up,” Clint says wearily.

            “Sure did,” Nick says. “But not with me. And not with Bruce. The way I see it, the only person you halfway need to apologize to is Castle.” Nick sits beside Clint and Thor with a groan, knees cracking. “But you know what? You’re the straightest shooter in this house. If anyone can get him to accept a damn apology, it’s you.”

            Clint nods. He still feels like shit. Nick reaches over and tousles his hair. Clint leans into the touch.

            “Fatherhood is tough,” Nick says. From anyone else, it’d sound so stupid that Clint would stop listening, but Nick’s low voice always captures him. “Grief is tough. People suffer all the damn time. If Castle blames you for not being a mind reader, that’s on him. And if Bruce blames you for Castle losing his goddamn mind, that’s on him too. You’re all grown.” Clint nods. Nick tugs his hair once before letting go. “Remember how you used to be.”

            Clint snorts. “Never kept my mouth shut. Tasha whipped my ass so bad I couldn’t sit for a week.”

            “And remember how Bruce used to be.”

            It was bad before the cage. Not that Bruce is a monster who should be locked up—because he needed something extra on top of his meds to help him feel safer, and he wouldn’t open up enough to admit his need for the cage to anyone. “Could be worse right now, I guess.”

            “Damn right,” Nick says. “Now unless you boys have any real objections, I wanna watch Impractical Jokers until Miss needs us.”

            “Hell yes,” Clint says. Thor squeezes him tight. Clint settles in between him and Nick to watch somebody else make a fool of themselves for once.

#

Bruce’s muscles ache.

His nerves burn.

His eyes are

heavy.

 

 _Chess?_ Tony asks.

Bruce shakes his

Bruised head. Asks

_Touch_

_my hair, please?_

As if he

deserves it. But

Tony

 

pets him, soothes

the beast like

only the best

handler

 

could. _You’re safe,_

Tony says. _I’m_

_not scared of_

_you._


End file.
